


Not Everyone Needs Roses

by Isis_McGee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Food Sex, Garbage man!Cas, Gross, M/M, Masturbation, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, garbage, rotted meat, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis_McGee/pseuds/Isis_McGee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's got a kink for how his boyfriend smells after work, but when his boyfriend isn't available, he'll make due.</p><p> </p><p>(I swear, this is actual garbage and if you read this, you should really go read a real, not garbage fic of mine afterwards)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Everyone Needs Roses

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, grossness lies ahead, y'all.

He hits a wall of stink as soon as he walks into his house. Dean’s been gone only 18 days‒ a short mission that was completely confidential, thank you very much‒ and his place smells like it’s rotting from the inside out. The house is small enough that it probably permeates the entire space, oozing through the woodwork. It is enough that it would gag a lesser man. But not Dean Winchester.

He doesn’t even realize his cock is rock hard from the smell until he slings his bag down and takes a step towards his blinking answering machine. He groans at the way his erection presses against his zipper as he reaches the button to hear his 1 lonely message.

“Oh man, Clint”‒ everyone around here knows him as Clint, hazard of the job and all, can’t use his real name, and he was feeling Western when he moved this time‒“I am so sorry.” The voice is Chuck Shirley’s, his reclusive, paranoid neighbor he asked to house sit for him while he was on ‘vacation.’ “There was an attack at my place‒ Angels! Real live angels! I mean, didn’t see their wings or anything, but man! Can you believe that?—anyway, I didn’t get a chance to go by your place. I think they teleported me somewhere. Jerusalem maybe? Wherever it was, it must have been arid, I got a nose bleed. But sorry I didn’t take your trash out on Tuesday. And did you plan on having a barbeque or something? You had hamburger thawing in your fridge when I came over to look for beer. I mean‒”

Dean presses the delete button without listening to the rest of Chuck’s message. He doesn’t even care if he came over and stole his beer. Right now all he cares about is taking care of the hard-on rubbing against denim; he thinks he might be starting to chafe, or get a permanent precome stain on those pants.

He fumbles in his pocket, his knuckles brushing against his cock and he grunts, and gets his phone out finally. He dials his boyfriend and as soon as Cas picks up, he can hear the rumbling on his truck.

“I need you to come over here and fuck me right now,” Dean growls out. His one hand is unzipping his jeans to relieve the pressure. He moves towards the fridge where he can see something puddling up at the bottom. His place is trashed and all he wants to do is hear Cas come thundering up the street in that damn garbage truck and for him to bend him over the compactor and fuck him with its on. His cock spurts out a happy little dribble of precome at that idea.

“Dean, I’m on route right now, I can’t. Are you home then?”

Dean groans, frustrated as hell, looking down at his dick and the puddle of what has to be blood from the burgers he’d accidentally left in the fridge. The damn door is partially open and everything in there has to be spoiled. Dean would hate Chuck so much if spoiled milk and bad meat and molding cheese didn’t smell so much like Cas’ uniform had the first time they’d kissed.

*

Mrs. Baker, the obnoxious old lady who lives on the other side of Dean, had run out to the street one day two months ago, flagging down the garbage man. Dean had been on the verge of asking Cas out for months by then, always thinking that it wasn’t fair someone who dealt with trash all day every day was so good looking and bright eyed.

“Sir! Sir!” she’d cried when Cas had stopped the truck and got out. The trucks were automated to pick up the bins, but somehow, Cas still always seemed to have coffee grounds or shredded cheese or some other bit of gunk on his uniform. That day had been no exception. “I think I accidentally threw away one of my granddaughter’s drawings! I’m just a house down, would you mind looking for me?”

Dean was shocked at the audacity of the woman‒ first, gross, second, couldn’t she see that Dean was trying to make a move on their hot garbage man, even if there was ketchup on his sleeve?—but Cas didn’t seem to be. He gave her a quick smile, one that didn’t even looked forced, and he went to grab something out of the cab of the truck. A full-fledged gas mask. He slipped it on and       hoisted himself up into the back of the truck.

Dean had stood there almost gaping and he had no idea for how long. Cas’ footsteps crunched around in the garbage and there were occasional bangs to the side of the truck, but soon he was stepping out. He had a piece of construction paper in his hand and it bore a scribble of a butterfly and a misspelled “2 gamdma’   with a heart and the name Payton next to it.

Mrs. Baker wrinkled her nose as she took it but thanked Cas profusely nonetheless.

Cas yanked his mask off, his hair sexily mussed and Dean felt himself fall in love.

“When it’s time to replace that with another Payton original, think about recycling, ma’am,” Cas said, completely straight faced.

Mrs. Baker had been walking away, and Cas turned back to Dean and Dean was on him. The smell of garbage clogged his nostril and Cas’ face felt dewy from his breathe fogging his mask up, but it was their first kiss, and Dean wouldn’t have changed anything.

*

Now, though, Dean wants to change everything.

“Cas, fuck your route, I need you to fuck me!” Dean opens the fridge and breathes deeply. “I need you to come shove me against that truck and get your cock in my ass, not even take your uniform off‒”

“Dean, I need to do my job. I’m sorry, baby, but you’ll have to take care of it on your own.”

Cas hangs up before Dean can try to convince him anymore. Dean almost throws his phone in annoyance, but thinks better of it. He eyes the contents of his fridge and he sniffs everything. His cock loves it and if he had any blood really left in his brain at the moment, he’d question who he hell he was that he was getting off on the smell of rotten meat. Instead, he doesn’t think, just grabs the plastic bag the patties are soaking in their own juice in, and reaches in.

The beef squishes in his hands, between his fingers and juice runs down his forearm, ruining his shirt for anything other than jacking off in. He keeps kneading the meat in his hand, getting it warm and he moves himself over to the compactor. It takes some maneuvering, but he gets himself up onto it. A two liter of pop that had been sitting there crashes to the floor and sprays everywhere. He doesn’t notice.

He aims his phone down and he shifts his leg to hit the button on the compactor. It shakes to life and Dean throws his head back for a second. He regains control of himself and he presses record on the video camera on his phone just as he slides his cock into his meat filled fist and moans.

He hopes by the end of watching Dean come all over trash that Cas will change his mind and come give him round 2. Maybe he can even get him in the back of the truck. It's that thought that gets Dean over the edge and spilling all  over his hand and the remnants of what once was going to be a burger. He hits 'send' and smiles, sated.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/134052700890/have-you-ever-struggled-to-get-hits-on-ao3-in-the
> 
> theme: Destiel Trash AF
> 
> I can't believe I wrote this.


End file.
